


When Are You Gonna Come Down? When Are You Going To Land?

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angry Harry, Bad coping mechanisms, Broken Eggsy, Broken Harry, Butterflies Are Free, Depression, Dysphoria, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hartwin, Love Helps But it Doesn't Fix Everything, M/M, Mental Illness, Needy Harry, No Tilde Bashing, Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle, Rebuilding Kingsman is not canon compliant, Suicidal Ideation, Tilde is Awesome, hartwin is endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: It's been two years since Eggsy married Tilde and he's utterly miserable.  He knows he made a mistake and he knows it'll be impossible to fix.  So he soldiers on, because if Eggsy's anything, he's loyal.  The only thing that keeps him going is Harry, who'd followed him to Sweden and now works in a botanical garden as a lepidopterist.





	1. I Should Have Stayed on the Farm

**Author's Note:**

> _Mostly_ canon compliant to Kingsman: The Golden Circle, but there are deviations for some plot points, particularly for the end of the movie, which I haven't seen (nor do I want to see). Everything is based on spoilers. Also, no Tilde bashing here. She is wise and loving and a fully developed person with strengths and flaws. If you hate her, this is not the story for you. That being said, the endgame is Hartwin.
> 
> Story title and chapter titles are from the Elton John classic, _Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_. I am old enough to remember when the eponymous album came out in 1972; my older sister had gotten the album for her birthday and made me listen to it constantly. 
> 
> Also, my first fully fledged Kingsman fic, so be kind. Graciously beta'd by [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/porsylin/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/porsylin/)**porsylin** \- thank you!
> 
>  **Warnings:** Allusions to mental illness, depression, dysphoria, suicidal ideation. Frank discussion of suicidal thoughts in final chapter.

If Eggsy knows anything, he knows that the guy who said, _don't live your life filled with vain regrets_ certainly knew what he'd been talking about. Because right now, his life is one giant cluster fuck of vain regrets. He's married to a beautiful woman, a smart woman, a woman who'd literally been born to lead, and a woman he finds he can barely stand to be in the same room with. Let alone be with in the same bed.

It's not Tilde's fault. 

It's his. For proposing out of guilt. For marrying out of obligation and grief and loneliness and the need to make something of his life without Kingsman. At the time, he did want to be "Prince Gary", consort to Princess Tilde, heir to the throne of Sweden. He'd been in love with the idea of living out every _My Fair Lady_ fantasy he'd ever had, except that he can't even watch that movie any more. Not since he'd read Shaw's play and realized that the happily-ever-after promised by Lerner and Loewe had been an invention to please the common theatre-going masses.

And that is, in and of itself, a lie, because Eggsy's not a purist by any stretch of the imagination. _My Fair Lady_ isn't just his favorite movie. It's a totem, a sacred promise between him and Harry. If Harry had ever said to him, "let's watch", Eggsy would have had it on the screen before the words stopped echoing. But Harry will never ask, because he thinks that Eggsy's too caught up in a life of promise and potential that has little space for watching hokey musicals with old friends.

Even if that's just what Eggsy would rather do, instead of spending his days as a figurehead, attending meetings with charitable organizations while they discuss matters of grave importance that Eggsy barely understands. It's not they are speaking in Swedish or that his assigned translator doesn't do a good job, it's that he doesn't have the background to comprehend the discussion and participate in a meaningful way. To Eggsy, if someone's in need, you give them help, but it's not that simple. 

It never is.

For the fifth time in as many days, he's attending one of those hellacious meetings. Eggsy sits and nods and makes notes and pretends that he's not choking to death. His tie feels too tight, the shirt collar too starched, the suit jacket is more like a straightjacket and he wants to scream like one of those howler monkeys at the zoo. But he doesn't, he behaves like a mannered gentleman, like a _fucking_ prince. He behaves the way he imagines Harry – the Harry Hart who'd rescued him from a wasted life and taught him how to be better than his former self – would behave. Eggsy is kind and gracious and even if these old men know that he's nothing more than an ignorant chav who had bumfucked their princess (and no, they wouldn't know about the bumfucking, of course), he's not going to behave like anything other than the gentleman that Harry Hart thinks he is.

Which is a strange way to look at the problem. He's not married to Harry.

"Your Highness, is something wrong?" Ansgar, the translator who's been at his elbow since nine AM, gives him a worried look.

Eggsy hadn't realized he'd sighed so deeply, so audibly. "No, but thanks for asking."

"Shall I suggest we take a short break?" Ansger looks at him with soulful eyes. They remind him of JB's and that fucking hurts too much.

"That sounds like a good idea, thanks." Eggsy's trained himself not to attach the semi-affectionate _bruv_ to his sentences, it's just too confusing for these people. He's also been working on his elocution. Not just pretend RP, but the whole Henry Higgins thing with speech training, so he doesn't forget himself and end up sounding like a fucking twat.

Harry had expressed some doubts about this; he'd had suggested that perhaps Eggsy should concentrate on reducing his use of certain words. Not "guv" and "bruv", but "fucking" and "twat" and "shit". Harry had said, just once, that repeated use of swear words lessens the impact. At the time, Eggsy had smiled and said that he still needs to sound like someone who is worthy to be the future Prince Consort to the Queen of Sweden and not some chav from a council estate in South London.

But Harry's advice always has a way of sticking with Eggsy, and he'd thought about the whole swearing thing – how rarely hears _Harry_ swear and how it feels like a fist in the face when he does. Eggsy had refused to think about how frequently Merlin had used invective, because that still hurts like a bullet to the chest. So Eggsy stops peppering his everyday speech with curses, reserving them for mental invective or for when he really does need to make a point. It seems to work. 

Harry's right of course.

Ansgar requests the short break and Eggsy now knows enough Swedish to understand what he's saying. Eggsy even uses Swedish to excuse himself and heads to the gents', trailed by the ever-present bodyguards.

Which is fucking hoot if Eggsy has to say so himself. He's a fucking spy who'd had the best fucking marksmanship scores in the history of Kingsman, bar only that fucker, Harry Hart. He carries a weapon at all times – more than one, usually – and he trains daily, from five AM to eight AM so he doesn't lose either his edge or his sanity. He can take down his own guards before they even realized they are dead. Which makes the idea of a protective detail fucking pointless.

He takes a piss and washes his hands and thinks for the millionth time that this shouldn't be his life. That this _isn't_ his life. That this is some great big cosmic joke.

The meeting reconvenes and plods on. The elderly gentlemen at the table keep apologizing for how long this is taking and that they are honored that Prince Gary is so willing to give them his time. Eggsy waves off Ansgar and says, in hopefully cogent Swedish, that this charity is important to him and he can't think of a better use of his time. The men smile and Eggsy glances at Ansgar, who gives him a tiny nod of approval. Apparently, Eggsy didn't fuck that up.

He wants to kill himself.

Finally, the meeting ends and everyone shakes hands and Eggsy gets to breathe fresh air for all of thirty seconds as he's bundled into the waiting limousine that will take him back to the palace. It's a little before three and Eggsy is relieved that he has no other meetings scheduled for the day. Tilde is engaged with her own favorite charities until later this evening, when they're hitting the party circuit. Eggsy presses on the intercom button and tells the driver to take him to the Bergius Botanical Garden, near the University.

Thankfully, neither the driver nor his bodyguards contradict or question the order and the car changes direction. It doesn't take long; the discreetly armored Volvo is equipped with stoplight controls and a security team that is in constant contact with Stockholm's central traffic management system to clear the road whenever a member of the Royal household is en route.

The car delivers him to a small building in the back of the main conservatory. It's an old structure of glass and Victorian-era ironwork, but newly repurposed. It's a gift from Prince Gary to his good and great friend, Mr. Harry Hart, who had, once upon a time, provided a favor to the prince and is a man held in high esteem by His Highness. 

It's a goddamn fucking butterfly garden that Eggsy had built so Harry would have a place to be the man he once dreamed of being; a place where Harry can be that sweet, gentle, shy man who loves butterflies more than anything, instead of the cold-hearted spy and killer who had lived an empty, lonely life in service to his country.

One of his bodyguards follows him into the building but waits at the door.

The building is warm and humid; it reminds Eggsy a little too much of that jungle in Cambodia, but he pushes the painful memory away. There's music on, the volume barely audible. It's Elton John, of course, and one of the classics – _Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road_ – is playing, and fuck if that song that feels too autobiographical at the moment. 

_So goodbye yellow brick road_  
_Where the dogs of society howl_  
_You can't plant me in your penthouse_  
_I'm going back to my plough_

Deep within the conservatory, Eggsy finds Harry bent over a small purple bush, murmuring encouragement to a pair of living specimens.

_"Yes, darlings, you can do it. That's good. You can do it, my beauties."_

Eggsy leans carefully against a table and watches Harry croon at a pair of mating insects. It makes him happy to see Harry happy. Happy and fulfilled and content with his life. 

The male butterfly finishes pumping his jizz into the female and they both take wing, flitting off into the damp recesses of the architecture. Harry finally looks up and sees him. His smile is bright and joyous and all of Eggsy's troubles seem to disappear. 

Eggsy smiles back and asks Harry the most banal of questions, "How are you, today?" 

Harry tilts his head a little, his smile notching down a few watts as he considers the question. "Today is a good day."

That means that the killer and the lepidopterist are at ease within the same mental framework; it means that Harry knows who he is and who he was and he's not troubled by any of it. 

"What brings you here today?" 

Eggsy shrugs. "Nothing in particular. Spent the day in meetings, mostly. Needed a breath of fresh air." _Wanted to see someone I care about._

"Meetings, feh." Harry gives him a wicked look and says something completely outrageous. "I suspect that's why Chester had turned traitor. All those meeting made him insane."

Eggsy laughs and doesn't take offense. "Have you eaten today?"

"Are you mother-henning me?" Harry makes a bit of face, but smiles so gently.

"Perhaps." Eggsy isn't going to tell Harry how much he worries about him, how he knows that when Harry falls into a funk or even when he gets too wrapped up in his winged companions, he forgets to take care of himself. "Thought we might catch a quick bite, chat for a bit." _I miss you._

"I wouldn't want to keep you from your responsibilities, Eggsy. You're a powerful man now; you shouldn't waste your time making sure this old fool gets his calories for the day."

Eggsy puts a gentle, careful hand on Harry's shoulder. "This old fool is my best friend and I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him." _Again._ The words are unexpectedly raw and honest. Harry doesn't resist as Eggsy pulls him into a hug. He's as lean and as soft as he'd been in Kentucky and Eggsy loves every inch of him. 

Harry holds him, a hand cupping the back of his head. "My dear boy, nothing's going to happen to me. I'm not going anywhere."

Eggsy swallows hard against the lump in his throat and breathes deep, taking nourishment from Harry's scent. It's a little musky, tinged with the flora and the dirt that surrounds him, there's not a trace of the expensive cologne he once wore, and all Eggsy can say is "Good."

Harry lets Eggsy bully him into a meal, even if it's just simple street fare that a bodyguard gets from one of the food truck near Harry's house. They eat in the car because Eggsy doesn't want his protective detail in Harry's sanctuary. Harry has told Eggsy he doesn't mind their presence and accepts the limitations that duty puts on their friendship. 

Eggsy disagrees; he doesn't want strangers despoiling the oasis of serenity that Harry has found there.

Eggsy hates the trappings of state with a seething passion; the protective detail, the endless – pointless – meetings, the unending public appearances, his life scheduled to the point where he has to put in a fifteen minute window on his calendar to take a shit. And that hatred grows when his phone chirps, reminding him that he needs to be back at the palace to get primped and prepped for this evening's dog-and-pony show. He wants to say fuck it, he wants to sit with Harry in the dark car that now smells of fried herring and chips; he wants to talk about nothing and about everything. He wants …

What he cannot have.

"I think it's time I headed in." Harry actually folds his paper napkin and puts it in the greasy-stained bag. "You have a busy night tonight?"

"Yeah. What else is new?" He lets out an unintentional sigh. "Another bunch of parties – " Eggsy bites his lip to stop the words; he doesn't want to let the old attitude slip out.

Harry gives him a searching look. "Eggsy? Is everything all right?"

"All's good. Just …" Eggsy doesn't finish the sentence. He won't put his dissatisfaction into words.

"You'll be fine." Harry seems to misinterpret Eggsy's distress. "You'll rise to the occasion. You'll shine like the star you are. I am so very proud of you."

Eggsy has to smile. Harry's belief in him is the only thing that gets him through the day, it seems. "Yeah, I will. I'll shine, don't you doubt that." He signals the bodyguard to come and open the door.

But before Harry exits the car, he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Eggsy's cheek. "You mean everything to me, Eggsy. Hold onto that, please."

The door opens and Harry gets out and it shuts before Eggsy can see Harry climb the stairs and enter his house – his damn bodyguard blocks the view

Why does life have to hurt so goddamn fucking much?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. You Know You Can't Hold Me Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilde sees her husband's misery and knows that she has to do whatever she possibly can to fix it. Even if it means revealing secrets that might take him away from her.

Tilde isn't a stupid woman. 

She's done stupid – criminally stupid – things, but she's not some dumb blonde bunny. She's the Crown Princess of Sweden, a trained diplomat, a respected voice of her people, and she'd have to be a moron not to see how miserable her husband is.

He's trying too hard to become worthy of his title, to be the perfect prince, to be worthy of her family's trust and regard. And he's doing such a marvelous job of it. Sweden is a constitutional monarchy, her father holds no power but is utterly beloved by the people, and when he passes on, Tilde will be Queen and little more than a political figurehead, but it's all work and little play. It's meetings and committees and charities; it's constant ceremony in the face of an unblinking public eye. And her beautiful Prince Gary, her sweet and deadly Eggsy, he's shining so bright, he's so beloved by the people, that Tilde tries to pretend that everything is fine. 

But it's not. She might thrive on this life now; it's what she was born to do, but Eggsy – not him. He's a man made for the shadows, and though he's shining like the summer sun, it's an unnatural and destructive for him.

This life is killing her husband.

Tonight had been particularly difficult; they'd attended three parties in quick succession, all for charities that Tilde supports. He glad hands and makes nice to the power elite of Scandinavia, he gets them to open their wallets and give until there are two commas and a decimal point seven point seven places to the right on their checks. He's charming and intelligent and Tilde's heart swells with pride. But he barely looks at her, his touch is brittle and cool and about as intimate as a winter wind.

She can't remember the last time they'd slept in the same bed. Let alone made love. Or even had sex. Tilde won't push – she has her pride and she won't shame Eggsy into intimacy. That's rape.

But this can't go on. Not for her, not for Eggsy. She is ready to fix what's been broken. It's well past time and she's done carrying around so many secrets.

Tilde strips out of her gown and her lingerie – pretty garters and stockings and a sexy lace bra and panties designed to tempt and tease – but that's not for tonight. What she has to say is too important to be distracted by the flesh. They need to talk, not fuck. Or more likely, not avoid each other's gaze when Eggsy apologizes and says he's worn out and maybe tomorrow?

So Tilde puts on practical satin pajamas and a robe and taps on the door that separates their bedrooms, calling out, "Eggsy, darling?"

She waits a minute and is about to knock again when he opens the door. Eggsy's still mostly dressed, although his tuxedo jacket is off and his bow tie is a black snake draped around his open collar. He has a glass in his hand but Tilde knows there's soda water, not booze in the glass. Eggsy doesn't drink – not anymore.

"Luv, is everything all right?" His voice is filled with concern, but his gaze is somewhere over her right shoulder.

"Can we talk?"

Tilde can see that Eggsy wants to give her some excuse and put her off, but he doesn't. He actually looks at her and smiles. Her heart breaks and melts at the same time. 

"Come in."

There's a long sofa under a wide window and she sits down, cross-legged like a child. 

"Can I get you anything?" Her husband is so damn polite, so painfully correct in his manners, it's nearly impossible to remember that this is the boy who'd fucked her ass after saving the world. 

"I'll have what you're having."

Eggsy doesn't say anything as he goes over to the bar and pours a glass of sparkling water for her. If she hopes that he'll sit next to her, her hopes are in vain. Instead, he stands there, glass still in hand, looking like some dream of a photographer's model, unbearably tempting in his slight dishabille and as distant as the moon.

Tilde takes a sip; it eases the unaccustomed nerves. "We need to talk." The four worst words in any language.

All Eggsy does is nods an ambiguous gesture.

"It'll be easier if you sat." She pats the couch.

He smiles and does sit, just not next to her, but in an armchair that does a magnificent job of walling him off. "What do we need to talk about?"

Tilde doesn't falter, she doesn't hesitate. "You don't want children, do you?" They'd never actually discussed this – as Tilde had is expected to provide an heir to the throne. 

Eggsy freezes and something terrible crosses his face. 

Tilde knows his answer. "Darling – " She reaches out to Eggsy and he flinches. "It's not working, is it?"

Eggsy gets up and paces. "I don't know what you mean."

Once upon a time, that sentence would have ended with _luv_ in that brash, happy tone she'd adorned. But her husband's remade himself to suit her life, shedding the rougher parts of himself like a lobster that's outgrown its shell. 

Tilde sighs and smiles. "You're miserable, Eggsy. You hate it here, you hate this life. And the idea of having children, of binding yourself to this role forever – that's the worst of all." She gets up and goes to Eggsy, she puts her hands on his shoulders and steadies him. "I'm destroying you."

He shakes his head. "No, no – it's not you. You're beautiful and perfect. You've done nothing wrong."

"Except drag you into a life you hate."

Eggsy laughs. "How can I hate this? I'm a fu – ." He bites his lip. "I'm a prince, your prince. There's nothing I want that I don't have – "

"Except happiness. Darling, this is not the life you want. It's not the life you deserve. I see that. I see _you_."

Eggsy shakes his head and tries to pull free. "I went into this with open eyes. I knew what it meant."

"Did you? Did you really?" Tilde pulls him back to the couch and he doesn't resist.

"Maybe not, but I'm learning, right? My Swedish is getting better, I don't curse, I think people respect me." Eggsy's digging at himself, running himself down and it kills Tilde.

"People, the people – _all_ the people – love you and respect you. There's no one who doesn't think you're the best thing that ever happened to this country. And I'm so proud of how hard you work, but it's not worth your soul. Your life."

Eggsy looks at her, really looks at her and for the first time in a year, she gets a glimpse of the man she married – a man filled with raw emotion, a man who lived on the edge. But it's quickly stifled. "I'll try harder." He licks his lips. "Maybe if we did have children …"

"You'd love them more than your own life, but you'd still be miserable. You'd feel like even more down and caged up than you already are, because once we have children, you'd never be able to leave. You'd be dying a slow death, day by day."

"No – children are a gift." He tries to pull away.

"They are, but they aren't a cure for a broken foundation." Tilde pulls out a terrible card and plays it with ice-cold aplomb. "Did your sister fix your mother's marriage? Or did it make everything worse."

Eggsy looks like he's been slapped. "You can't compare us to my mum and Dean!"

"No, of course not. You're not weak and I'm not abusive. But our marriage, our life as husband and wife, it's just as broken."

"No, it's not. I can do better. I can be better." There's desperation in every syllable. "Let me try. I'll do better, I swear." Eggsy is bowed over, his head practically in her lap. This is the most intimate they've been in months and Tilde's heart is breaking.

But not for herself, for Eggsy. For his pain and his loyalty and his loving heart that she'd not hesitated to take advantage of and use to her own benefit. That needs to stop.

She bends over and kisses his head, telling him, "You don't have to." She feels the ripples of pain go through him. "I love you, Eggsy. I love you too much to see you suffer."

"I can do better, I promise." Eggsy whispers into her lap. "Just give me another chance."

Tilde lifts Eggsy's head up and cups his face. "You hate this life, dearest. You might be a fucking peacock – " Her cursing makes Eggsy smile, "but you are really a creature of shadow. You're a spy, a fighter, a doer. You aren't made to sit in meetings and glad hand and wear a smile until your face feels like it's going to fall off."

Eggsy blinks, not in confusion to but to stop the tears that are threatening. "I don't want to let you down; I don't want to fail you."

"You can't. You're my hero, my savior. And I'm destroying you." 

"Not you, never you." Eggsy pulls free and shakes his head. "Maybe it's this life that I'm not fitting into, Tilde. But not you."

"Yes, me. You can't separate who I am from _what_ I am. I will always be the Crown Princess of Sweden – I can't run away from that obligation, not anymore. But I can release you from it."

Eggsy freezes, there's a heartbeat when he can't disguise the flare of hope in his eyes. "I will do better. Give me a chance."

Tilde shakes her head. "I would rather know that you're out in the world, doing what you'd been trained to do, what you love, than living a half-life here, thinking about eating your gun."

Eggsy rears back, breaking her hold. "I would never – "

Tilde reaches out and takes Eggsy's hand. "You think about it. I think if you didn't have your butterfly man, you just might do it."

"Harry?" Eggsy's voice cracks. "What's Harry got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Before you found him, you'd told me so many times how you'd be nothing without him. I watched you grieve for him, I held you while you cried in your sleep and called out his name."

Eggsy turns away because he can't deny the truth of her words.

"I think you married me to make him proud."

"I married you because I loved you." 

Tilde leans forward and kisses her husband's forehead. "No, my darling. You married me because you were in love with the idea of love. Because you had nothing left – everyone in your life was gone. You thought I needed you, and I did. But you didn't understand the price you'd have to pay and I didn't really want to think too hard about what this would cost you. But I have to, now. I have to grow up and be responsible to you."

"What does that mean?" Eggsy is adorable when he's confused.

"It means I need to let you go, so you can do what you're supposed to do."

"And what's that?"

"Save the world."

Eggsy laughs, it's a mournful sound. "Luv, my world-saving days are over. Kingman is gone, remember?"

"Is it?"

"Poppy blew it all to bits. She killed everyone. There's nothing left. You can't rebuild something from nothing."

"You could start over."

"With what?"

Tilde bites her lip. This is the hardest part, revealing a secret she's kept for her own selfish good. "There's money. Plenty of money – mostly from insurance payments. Everything – down to the last stick of furniture – had been insured. There had been life insurance policies on all of the agents and senior personnel, all paid back to Kingsman. And there are licenses and patents on all the wonderful inventions your wizard created, there's money from investments, income from hundreds of high end properties that hadn't been damaged by that evil woman."

Eggsy looks like a deer caught in the headlamps. "I don't understand."

"There are funds – billions of pounds just waiting to be used to rebuild Kingsman."

"Wouldn't that money have gone back to the donors?"

Tilde shakes her head. "No. Kingsman was a self-sustaining business. Donations are gifts given, not investments to be repaid."

Eggsy stands up, bolts up. He looks like a wild animal trapped in a cage. "How do you know all of this?"

"After everything, after I got myself clean and realized that your life was broken, I needed to know how it could be fixed. I needed to try to fix this, like you helped fix me. My family might be figureheads without real political power, but my family still has privilege and a certain amount of muscle. And it didn't hurt that we'd donated to Kingsman over the generations. I've had people working on setting the financial ship right since before our wedding. There's still a lot of work to be done, but the insurance companies have paid almost all of the claims."

Eggsy still looks like he doesn't believe what he's hearing. He repeats, "Kingsman is gone. There's nothing left."

"Eggsy, you are a Kingsman. Your butterfly man is a Kingsman. You are the beneficiaries. It's all yours, just waiting to start over again."

Eggsy stares at her like she's just grown a second head. 

"I've been lying to you – just a little. I haven't been all spending of my time with my charities for the last few months. I've been working with accountants and lawyers and bankers and insurance people getting everything straightened out. And as of today, all of the hard work has been finished. You can stay here with me and be miserable or you can fly free and rebuild. Save the world because it needs to be saved."

Eggsy scrubs at his face and gives her a hard look, one she's only seen directed at other people. It reminds her that her husband is a deadly man. "Were you ever going to tell me about this?"

Tilde is honest, because Eggsy deserves that more than anything. "If you were happy. If we were happy, then no. Probably not."

To her relief, Eggsy just nods, accepting her words at face value. 

Tilde isn't finished. "But I don't think you could ever be happy. Not in the long run."

Eggsy finally sits back down and she can see that the battle is almost won. "What now?"

"Now you tell me what you really want to do."

Eggsy lets out a breath. "I don't want to let you down. I don't want to fail you." 

"You would only fail me if you stayed here and became a miserable, lonely, bitter man. And I don't want to be married to a miserable, lonely and bitter man."

"I want – " Eggsy bites his lip and stares at his hands.

Tilde watches her husband fight with himself. For so much of his life, he's been forced to give up what he wants to do what he needs. "You're allowed to be selfish."

After too many heartbeats, Eggsy looks at her and finally says, "I want this, Tilde. I need this."

"It's not going to be easy."

At that, Eggsy smiles – that wicked grin that she'd fallen in love with. "Nothing good ever is, luv."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been a number of very enlightening posts about Swedish royalty and nobility and the rank of commoners who've married into the royal family. For purposes of this story, let's assume that Eggsy has been granted a noble title and is official a prince. If those posts reappear on my dash, I'll link them here.


	3. It'll Take You a Couple of Vodkas and Tonics To Set You On Your Feet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's summoned to the palace for dinner with Eggsy and Tilde. He's worried and starts to feel reality slipping out of his grasp. Tilde is once again the hero of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, Harry's not a very reliable narrator in this chapter. The words he hears himself say - particularly the angry ones - aren't actually the words he says.

Harry's never quite sure if some of his memories are real, or if they are the result of badly firing synapses and an active imagination. 

There are days when he can't believe he'd once been a spy, a killer, but he knows that that is as much a part of him as his love of butterflies. He remembers slaughtering a church full of hate mongers as effortlessly as swatting flies. He remembers what happened in Cambodia, fighting side-by-side with Eggsy like they'd been performing well-practiced choreography, but it still feels unreal. And yet, Harry knows he's missing an eye because of who he used to be. He's been told he's a hero, that he'd saved the world many time over. Except that is not the whole story. His memories are filled with so much death and destruction, so many lies. 

So many broken promises. So many excuses couched in epigrams and aphorisms. He hopes that most of them aren't real.

But there's one memory that he's certain is real. The memory of a man throwing himself on another, an explosion, the stench of cordite and burnt flesh, the shocked look on the survivors' faces and his own overwhelming guilt. This is the death of Lee Unwin, Eggsy's father. He remembers this moment; he remembers going to see Lee's widow. He even remembers giving some tatty medal to a young boy and ordering him to take care of his mother.

Harry also remembers shouting at an adult Eggsy, telling him that everything he did for him had been to repay Lee. But he knows that's a load of horse shit. If he'd wanted to repay Lee Unwin, he'd have done more than pass through his widow's and his son's lives like a bad smell. He'd have watched out for them, made certain that they'd lived good and decent lives. Eggsy Unwin should have been many things, and none of those should have been a Kingman.

Not the Eggsy isn't the finest Kingman that Harry had ever met. No, _man_ , not just Kingsman. He's brilliant and loyal and fearless. Eggsy wouldn't leave a stranger's family to rot because he didn't know how to care.

Harry takes a deep breath and centers himself. He cannot afford to start spiraling, and starts naming random species of butterfly as a coping mechanism…

 _Speyeria atlantis irene_  
_Papilio eurymedon_  
_Euphilotes battoides_  
_Hesperia juba_ ...

Harry names a hundred or so species before his heart rate slows and he doesn't feel the need to destroy everything in his path. This rage had once been as familiar as the padded walls of his room in Kentucky. But Harry hasn't felt it in a long time, not since Eggsy gave him back his name and his life.

It's ironic; Eggsy has told him so many times in the past two years that everything he is, everything he's achieved, has been because of Harry. And Harry feels so unworthy of that regard. And the near-rage is triggered again.

 _Phyciodes campestris campestris_  
_Incisalia eryphon_  
_Incisalia mossii_  
_Hemiargus isola_ …

The inside of his cheek's bitten bloody and swollen and Harry's hands ache from too-tightly clenched fists. It would be better not to think of Eggsy. But that's impossible. Eggsy is his life. He's the reason Harry gets up in the morning and is able to sleep at night. His beautiful, brilliant boy, who's achieved so much.

And who is so desperately unhappy. Harry might have one eye, but he can still see. 

He can hear, too: the sadness and resignation in Eggsy's voice when he talks about his duties, about being a prince. And what worries Harry even more is the lack of joy when he mentions his wife. Harry had once – a few months back – asked Eggsy when they were going to start a family. The very brief look of horror and panic on his face had made Harry thinks that Eggsy is bitterly unhappy, that he's just been going through the motions. It had been almost too fleeting but Harry's certain it had been real.

Harry feels responsible for this. He feels like he should have said something that afternoon before Eggsy said his vows; he should have given Eggsy a way out. Instead, he'd pushed Eggsy away, towards a fairytale life, and in the process, broke what was left of his own heart.

But even now, two years later, Harry can't see any other way. What should he have said to Eggsy? _"I love you? I need you? I can't life my life without you?"_ How can he do that? Eggsy is the personification of youth and vitality, how can Harry let himself even think that they'd be able to have something more than what they have now. Harry Hart is a broken man, old beyond his years, damaged in ways that can never be fixed. 

He should just be grateful that Eggsy wants him close by; that he's provided a sanctuary and a space for him to explore something that he loves, that he's willing to share his limited free time with him. That Eggsy still thinks that Harry Hart is still someone of value.

Harry's phone chimes with a reminder. A car will be arriving within the hour to fetch Harry and take him to the palace. This morning, Eggsy had asked Harry to join the family for dinner, with apologies for the short notice. Harry can't escape the feeling that there's something about to happen, that there's a reason for this request beyond a desire for his company.

He bathes and grooms himself with utmost care – these are rituals that are engrained in his DNA, things he'll never forget. The suit he puts on had been custom fitted for him by the royal household's own tailors, a gift from Eggsy. While it is fit for a king – or prince – it doesn't feel quite right to Harry. 

Perhaps it's because it isn't a Kingsman suit.

He's dressed and waiting and the limo driver rings his doorbell at exactly six-fifteen PM. He's at the palace and through security a half-hour later. At precisely seven o'clock, Harry's ushered into a small parlor and into the presence of Crown Princess Tilde and her husband, Prince Gary. This isn't the first time he's been invited to the palace to dine, but it's the first time that it's just the three of them.

Harry summons all of his training and bows to the precise depth required for greeting royalty. Tilde nods her head in regal acceptance but Eggsy is unusually undisciplined, taking his hand and pulling him into a quick, tight hug.

Harry relaxes against Eggsy for an infinitesimal moment of pure pleasure before pulling away. Eggsy laughs, telling him, "We're friends here, no stuffed shirts with silver spoons up their arses to watch and disapprove."

Harry wants to be shocked but all he can do is laugh. This is the Eggsy he remembers, sharp-tongued and irreverent, and yet such behavior isn't fitting for the husband of a Crown Princess. Harry sneaks a glance over at Tilde and is surprised to see her looking so fondly at her husband, as if she approves of this exhibition of less than stellar manners.

Eggsy asks, "A drink, Harry?"

"Certainly, and thank you." _"Eggsy"_ is on the tip of Harry's tongue, but using that familiarity would be fatally rude in such a formal setting. And there's no way he can call Eggsy "Prince Gary".

To Harry's surprise, there are no footmen waiting to serve and Eggsy pours the drinks himself. A fine single-malt for Harry, a glass of wine for Tilde, and Eggsy just has water.

He hands Harry the glass with a grin. "Remember that night? When you taught me how to make a proper martini?"

Harry does and smiles. The man before him now bears little resemblance to that wicked, laughing boy in a snapback and the world's ugliest jacket, but the light in Eggsy's eyes is the same. He's _happy_ and Harry doesn't know what to make of it. "Of course I do. But you're not having one?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "No, don't drink anymore."

This is something new. "Why?" He can't imagine Eggsy having a problem with alcohol. He has too much personal discipline.

But apparently Eggsy disagrees. "It'd be too easy to fall into the trap. There's so much social drinking and if I'm not careful, I'll end up as a high-functioning alcoholic with a potted liver. So it's just easier not to. Drink, that is. And there's family history. Mum, Dean – the whole environment where I grew up. So, I just don't. And really, I don't miss it." 

Harry looks at his Scotch and remembers his own father's drunken stumbling through the house. Remembers too many of his own nights where he himself had finished off a bottle because he had nothing better to do. "You're a wise man." 

"Maybe." 

The moment almost descends into awkwardness, but Tilde saves the conversation, asking about the work he's doing in the conservatory. Harry keeps his enthusiasm on a tight leash. While Eggsy's made an effort to understand Harry's passion out of friendship, wasting his valuable time to educate himself on the basics of lepidopterolgy, Tilde certainly hasn't, so diving deep would be rude.

And yet, the Crown Princess does seem to have a grasp beyond the basics, asking surprisingly thoughtful questions. 

Eventually, they move to a small dining room, where they are served by white-gloved and bewigged footmen. The conversation drifts through a number of light, inconsequential topics, all perfectly acceptable for a formal dinner. Harry is uneasy, though. Eggsy's behavior has undergone a sea-change. The anguish is gone, and Harry feels as if the ground is shifting under him.

Plates are whisked away and Harry's offered a selection of digestifs, which he declines, and then coffee, which he accepts.

Replete, but not relaxed, Harry looks at the married couple and waits for the bomb to drop.

"Harry, I guess you're wondering about the sudden invitation."

He nods, and the feeling of dread increases.

Tilde says, "Eggsy and I wanted to share the news with you first. You are so important to him."

Harry nods. He can hear the words before they're spoken. _"We're going to have a baby."_

"We're getting a divorce."

Harry shakes his head. He must have heard wrong. "Excuse me?"

"Eggsy and I are separating." Tilde smiles at him. "We feel it is for the best."

Harry feels like his head is about to explode, as if Valentine's bullet is still plowing through his brain. "I don't understand." But, in truth, he does understand and for the space of a heartbeat, all Harry can feel is joy – that there will be a chance for Eggsy and him. That he can take Eggsy and go home and live a life surrounded by all the love he has ever wanted. And as quickly as the joy comes, so does the shame.

Eggsy says, his tone quiet but firm, "It hasn't been an easy decision – "

Harry cuts Eggsy off, bitter anger loosening the reins on his tongue. "You made a commitment. A promise. And now you just walk away because you're unhappy? Because you can't cope with the responsibility? The marines, your gymnastics. You just give up when things get too difficult. You'll never amount to anything, and I'm ashamed of you."

The rage he's worked so hard to bury bursts out of Harry like an infected wound draining itself. He pushes himself out of his chair in a violent fit and one of the footmen steps between him and the royal couple and there's a gun pointed at him. Tilde is rushed from the room. Eggsy's standing now, too, and he pulls his own gun. However, it's not pointed at Harry, but at the footman-cum-bodyguard. "Stand down, Edvard."

Amidst the angry clamoring in his head, Harry finds space to marvel that Eggsy knows the footman's name. "I need to go." He turns too sharply and to his blind side and slams his hip into the sharp corner of dining table. The pain is crippling and he almost falls to the floor. 

Eggsy helps him up. "Jesus, Harry – be careful."

Harry pulls himself free and repeats, "I need to go." He heads towards the door.

Edvard the bodyguard and another young man in formal servant's regalia escort him through the palace. Although he doesn't turn back, Harry knows that Eggsy's following them, his footsteps are sharp against the marble floors. The limo that brought him here is waiting to take him home and Harry does his best not to run towards it. But it's a false sanctuary as the two escorts join him in the car. Before the door closes, he sees Eggsy standing there, his face as expressionless as an ancient Greek statue.

The anger dissolves and shame returns. Not just for that moment of hope, or for his ill-mannered behavior, but for the horrible words he'd flung at Eggsy, all too similar to that terrible confrontation before Kentucky. And the assumptions he'd made; that the separation is Eggsy's fault, not Tilde's. He knows that Eggsy's been miserable, maybe it's the princess' fault?

The drive home seems to take less time that the drive to the palace and Harry's infinitely grateful for that. The sooner this horrible night ends, the better. Thankfully, the two bodyguards remain behind and as Harry shuts the door behind him, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Sleep doesn't come easily. In fact, it doesn't come at all, and by dawn, Harry abandons his bed for the kitchen and a cup of tea.

He sits there, in his pajamas and robe, hands around the cup as it turns cool, then cold. He finds he has little interest in moving from this spot. Maybe he'll sit here until he dies. 

The world spins on as Harry remains locked in place and it might have spun off into nothingness if not for the sharp chime of his doorbell. There's a moment of desperate hope, that it's Eggsy and last night was just a bad hallucination. But it's not Eggsy at the door; it's a uniformed member of the Royal guard.

"Her Highness, Princess Tilde, would like to speak with you. May she come in?"

Harry cannot refuse royalty, nor can he greet her in his nightclothes. "Certainly. Please tell Her Highness that I will be down momentarily." He spares a glance around the living room. It has a distinctly hotel-like quality to it, tidy and anonymous. It's not a space he spends much time in or particularly cares about. He heads to his bedroom to change into something acceptable for an early morning visit by royalty. Not the suit from last night, but something just a touch less formal – medium gray with a dark pinstripe. There's nothing to consider about the choice of shirt – white, and the tie – dark blue. It takes Harry less than ten minutes to wash and dress and return to his living room to greet the princess.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Your Highness." Harry bows, because he cannot help himself.

Tilde smiles and shakes her head. "There is nothing to apologize for. It is barely nine in the morning and I was half-afraid I would be disturbing your rest."

Harry's not going to tell Tilde he hadn't slept a wink. "I must apologize for my behavior last night. It was inexcusable."

Tilde jokes, "Don't worry, _lèse majesté_ is no longer a crime in my country." 

Harry feels an unaccustomed heat in his face. "Is Egg- Prince Gary – all right?" He doesn't even know how he dares to ask.

"Eggsy's fine. More worried about you than anything."

Harry bites his lip and nods. "Thank you, Your Highness. "

"Tilde, please. Otherwise I'll have to call you Mr. Hart throughout this conversation and that will be very awkward."

Harry's not certain he can call the princess by her given name, it goes against everything he's been taught. And so does contradicting royalty. Two competing lessons, but not the most difficult conflict he's ever had to deal with. "How may I be of service?" 

"I want to talk a little bit about what we shared with you last night." Tilde pauses and she seems to be waiting for some reaction from him.

"I shouldn't have said anything, I was out of line – to both you and … Eggsy." It is an effort, but Harry thinks that with the requested informality, it would be inappropriate to call Eggsy "Prince Gary".

Tilde looks at Harry, her expression a touch stern. "This really isn't about your reaction, which Eggsy assures me isn't anything unusual."

"Sadly, that is true. I seem to have less control of my temper these days."

She nods, but Harry doesn't think that is a gesture of either acceptance or understanding. "I had planned to have a conversation with you – about what has happened between Eggsy and me. I just didn't expect to have it so soon. But perhaps it is better this way."

Harry doesn't say anything. He really has no idea where this is going.

"I manipulated Eggsy into proposing."

That is about as unexpected a statement as the announcement last night.

"I had a rough time after Valentine kidnapped me. Morten – Morten Lindström – the Prime Minister who'd betrayed us – he'd been a family friend for years. Someone I'd trusted since I'd been a little girl. After he turned me over to Valentine, I watched that woman literally cut my guards into pieces and smile." Tilde stares at her hands. "It was as if I'd lost a part of myself in those months that Valentine held me. The person I was went into hiding. And then Eggsy came and rescued me and I thought I could be whole again."

"It doesn't really work that way, I've found."

"No, it doesn't. Eggsy was …" Tilde blushes and Harry doesn't press her to complete the thought. "He became my everything. My rock, my lifeboat. As long as he was nearby, I could pretend that everything was all right."

"Eggsy is very good at being strong for the people he loves."

"Yes. I've seen that, with his mother. With his sister. With you."

It's Harry's turn to look away. He can't let himself remark on that.

Tilde lets out a tiny sigh. "But when he was away – I couldn't stay stable. It seemed that there was always so much to be afraid of. And there were parts of Eggsy's job that I didn't handle well. When he had to be with other people. It made me scared that he would leave me."

"You had your ground cut out from under you. And it's difficult even when you're in the best mental state to cope with a partner who is in such a dangerous profession." Harry had never questioned the Kingsman precept against personal relationships, and it had been the only reservation he'd had about Lee Unwin's candidacy – that he had a family to distract him.

"But that doesn't excuse manipulating Eggsy, guilting him into a marriage proposal. It doesn't excuse the self-medication, either."

"Ma'am?" Harry cannot bring himself to call her Tilde.

"I started taking drugs to help me deal with the anxiety. Mostly just weed. But even so – it was stupid and wrong. Instead of going to a doctor and getting real help, I just covered everything up and nearly died."

Harry isn't particularly shocked at this revelation. He's known too many agents who've done just that to help them deal with the job. But there's something more here. "You were poisoned by Poppy. I didn't know that."

Tilde nods. "Marrying Eggsy saved my life. Letting him go will save his."

Shame washes over Harry again. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For my cruelty last night. I've seen how sad Eggsy's been, but I've brushed it off; telling myself that he's still trying to find his footing in such a public life. That he will find it."

"He already has, Harry. He might hate it, but he excels at it. The people love him and that's going to be the most difficult part of what will have to come. And what you need to know is that this has been my doing – the marriage and the end of the marriage. I'm the one who is making the break. Eggsy is loyal and he would have stuck with me until it killed him."

Harry doesn't want to think about anything killing Eggsy, but he agrees with Tilde. "Loyalty is his finest quality."

" _One_ of his many fine qualities," Tilde corrects.

"Yes." Harry can't ever remember feeling so diminished. "What do you need from me, Ma'am?"

"I need you to – " Tilde smiles, "to let him love you. Like you love him."

Harry freezes and starts to panic.

 _Euchloe hyantis hyantis_  
_Anthocharis lanceolata_  
_Speyeria mormonia_  
_Cercyonis oetus_  
_Colias philodice_

He feels Tilde's eyes on him as he gathers the threads of control and knots them into a tight bundle. "Ma'am – I, Eggsy – we haven't …" He's lightheaded from hyperventilating.

"Of course you haven't. And perhaps you'll never be more than dearest friends, but you deserve the chance to find out if you _could_ be." Tilde reaches out and takes Harry's hands. "You both deserve happiness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy is aware that he could be an incipient alcoholic and has stopped drinking is my own personal head canon. It'll likely show up in other fics, eventually. I think Eggsy has been too honed by tragedy not to be self-aware of his weaknesses, and he's certainly seen what drink and drugs have done to his mum and to Dean, to so many of the families where he grew up, and realizes that he has a genetic and environmental predisposition to alcoholism, so he just doesn't drink at all. Sort of like Vice President John Hoynes from The West Wing, who realized he could have a problem with alcohol when he was in college. And Harry is very likely a high-functioning alcoholic – that's practically _de rigueur_ for men of his age and class.


	4. My Future Lies Beyond the Yellow Brick Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry return to London and begin the hard work of rebuilding Kingsman. It is difficult, but there are things they discover that make the task a lot easier. It also helps that they are happy in this life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, at the end of the story. Thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos and comments, or simply read and enjoyed. I've never had a story (especially my first for a fandom) receive such an immediately positive reaction. Love to you all!
> 
> Warning - Frank discussion of suicidal thoughts and intentions. Brief use of a homophobic slur.

**London – A Year and a Half Later**

Eggsy calls upstairs, "Harry, we're going to be very late." 

Harry calls down, "And what else is new?"

Instead of getting annoyed, Eggsy smiles and sips his morning tea. Of course they're going to be late. But not the very late that Harry once had a reputation for. It's a game that the two of them play. Eggsy has all the clocks in the house set ten minutes ahead, knowing that Harry won't bother to look at his phone or check his watch until they are out the door. Harry knows the clocks are all ten minutes fast and therefore slows down his morning routine so that he finishes just in time. No amount of prodding will make him move any faster.

As soon as Eggsy hears footsteps on the stairs, he pours a second cup of tea and adds a tiny splash of cream. The cup is decorated with beautifully stylized butterflies, part of an Art Deco set he'd found one afternoon about a month after they'd returned to London. The house in Stanhope Mews had been rebuilt during Eggsy's sojourn in Sweden, but Harry had gently suggested that perhaps they might find someplace different, a place that would be a fresh start for both of them. 

They'd settled in one of the many properties Kingsman owns, a somewhat modern townhouse near Grosvenor Square in Mayfair, about a ten minute walk to Savile Row. The selling point had been a glass-enclosed conservatory off the back of the house, a perfect place for Harry to retreat to when the world becomes too much.

Eggsy smiles as Harry enters the kitchen and makes a beeline for the tea. He watches Harry with careful eyes, taking note of his sartorial perfection – a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and of all things, a vintage Liberty of London tie. The colors are muted, but the pattern is wild, even for Liberty's standard – paisleys and florals _and_ butterflies. Eggsy has found that Harry is happier; more grounded in his entire self, if there is a butterfly on his person. It could be a pocket square made from vintage kimono silk, a tie like the one he has on today, or a pair of cufflinks with enameled butterflies. Something that Harry can touch when the noise gets too loud and he needs to pull back from everything. 

Harry finishes the tea and puts the cup back on its saucer with a small sigh before leaning over and kissing Eggsy – a careful brush of lips. "Morning, my dear." 

"Morning, Haz." Eggsy uses the detested nickname because he knows how much Harry secretly loves it. And he has proof of that when Harry tries to grimace, but smiles instead.

"Shall we get going? We're supposed to meet with Arthur promptly at nine."

Eggsy checks his watch and sighs. That will likely be nine-fifteen or nine-thirty, if they're lucky. He follows Harry to the entryway, where they don coats and scarves and hats and gloves and brace themselves for a ten-minute walk in sub-zero weather. January in London isn't usually this cold, but this winter has been particularly brutal, at least for Londoners. Eggsy and Harry have survived long dark winters in Stockholm that make today's icy, glittery sunshine seem like a day in Ibiza.

Eggsy hands Harry his Rainmaker, sets the security system and picks up his own umbrella. They head down the steps and onto the street. There's a quiet hush over the City; last night's minor snowfall and the frigid temps seem to be keeping people indoors; not that their exclusive Mayfair neighborhood is the bustling kind, anyways. 

To Eggsy's deep pleasure, Harry holds out his hand and Eggsy takes it, relishing how willing Harry is to make this public declaration. The sidewalks are clear and wide enough that they rarely have to separate. They do this every morning and every morning, Eggsy thinks, _this is how it's supposed to be_.

Because they've earned it. 

The last year hasn't been easy. Tilde had taken the brunt of the criticism for their separation and divorce; publicly blaming herself for the failure of her fairytale marriage. She'd been honest with her people about her drug use and how she'd looked to Gary as her rescue, and now that she's clean and sober and finding how strong she truly is, she's found that dependence isn't the basis for a marriage. But Eggsy hadn't completely escaped the wrath of the tabloid press, as much as there actually is a tabloid press in Sweden. He'd been called a gold-digger and that he'd taken advantage of their princess' weaknesses to manipulate her into marriage; it was for the best that Tilde dumped him now, before there were children.

Eggsy hadn't minded the lies and accusations, but for a while, the publicity spilled over into his mum's life here in England. The gutter press had tracked her down and hounded her for comments about her son, about his past, about anything they could get their hands on. Eggsy had said a prayer to Merlin, thanking him for wiping his past clean when he'd taken on Galahad's mantle. But still, it had been an uncomfortable few months for his family and the few friends he had left in his life. It had taken some time but "Prince Gary" ceased to be of interest when Tilde started dating again, and the royal-watchers were delighted that she was now involved with a not-so-distant relative of the former king of Greece.

But none of that has stopped Eggsy and Harry from building a life together and rebuilding Kingsman. 

To their great delight, they'd returned to London and found that the tailor shop had been rebuilt and open for business. Although owned by the Kingsman organization, the shop had maintained independent financing and insurance and didn't need an actual Kingsman to get it back up and running. It had been such a pleasant shock when they'd taken that first walk to Savile Row, a trip Eggsy had been dreading. Instead of finding a bombed out storefront, or worse – that it had been rebuilt and now occupied by some tatty designer retailer, it had been as if nothing had happened. Kingsman Tailors had been back in business for well over a year, with the same glass front with the same discreet gold lettering, the same mannequins wearing timeless menswear, even the same bell chimed when they'd opened the door.

And the greater delight had been finding that the entire tailoring staff – to a man – is back at work. Of course they'd survived; something Eggsy should have realized. Poppy's attack had happened at night, when everyone had been off duty.

Andrew, the head tailor, had greeted Eggsy with a blazing smile – the most emotion he'd ever seen on the man, but his reaction to Harry had been subtly different. Warm, certainly, but there was a touch of familiarity in the quiet "Welcome home, sir" that Eggsy hadn't expected. Especially since, as far as Andrew should have known, Harry had been a dead man.

That night, exhausted from the sheer volume of paperwork they'd had to deal with, Eggsy had tapped on Harry's bedroom door. He'd needed to talk and it couldn't wait until morning.

_"Come in."_

_Ironically, this is the first time Eggsy has seen Harry in bed since he'd been a trainee and he'd watch over Harry when he'd had been in a coma. The light from the reading lamp is kind to Harry, smoothing away the careworn lines that had grown too deep during their time in Sweden, hiding the scars and softening the deep shadow of his empty eye socket._

_"Sorry to disturb you."_

_"You could never disturb me, Eggsy." Harry's smile is sweet and it sends a wrenching pain so deep in Eggsy's heart that he thinks he'll feel it forever._

_"Can I sit?"_

_Harry scoots over and gestures to the edge of the bed, ever the perfectly polite gentleman. "What's the matter?"_

_"I have a question for you, and I need an honest answer."_

_"I can try."_

_"You can do, Harry." At Harry's nod, Eggsy finds his courage and asks his question. "Did you know about the shop before we came back?" There's something in Harry's eyes that tugs on Eggsy's intuition and he asks, "What about Kingsman? About everything? Did you know before I told you?"_

_Harry meets Eggsy's eyes and answers with unflinching honesty. "Yes. I'd been kept in the loop since before your wedding."_

_"You worked with Tilde's lawyers? The insurance people? The accountants?"_

_"I didn't really work with them. I didn't have – " Harry sucks in a breath and admits, "the emotional capacity to deal with the minutiae. I gave Tilde the authority to set up a team to handle the day-to-day issues of processing the claims, managing the funds as they came in, assessing property and investment options, but yes, I knew exactly what was going on – in a big picture sort of way. One of the first things I did was sign off on the reconstruction of the shop, so yes – I knew it was up and running and that Andrew was back in charge."_

_"I don't understand, why did you let Tilde deal with it? Why not take Champ's offer to help rebuild? You could have done the same thing but still been a part of it – as much as you'd been able to bear."_

_At that, Harry looks away. "Because."_

_"Why?" Eggsy thinks he knew the answer, but he'd needs to hear it from Harry's lips._

_"Because it would have meant I'd need to stay in England if we'd accepted Champ's offer. And as generous as it was, rebuilding Kingman on the back of a liquor business isn't particularly sound or effective. It can take twenty years to bring the first barrel's worth of scotch to market. It just didn't seem worth it. When you'd asked me if I wanted to go with you to Stockholm, when you'd offered to give me a butterfly garden to work in, it was as if you'd handing me everything I wanted on a silver platter."_

_"But you gave up the garden and came back here, to do what you didn't want to do in the first place."_

_"My dear boy – " Harry reaches out and takes Eggsy's hand. "It wasn't the garden; it wasn't even that I didn't want to deal with rebuilding Kingsman. It was you. I didn't want to be parted from you." Harry rubs a thumb across Eggsy's knuckles and Eggsy feels that caress all the way to his soul. "You mean everything to me. You wanted absolute honesty and you're getting it. I'm a silly old man, with romantic daydreams for the first time in a very long life."_

_Eggsy can't stifle a gasp at the sudden rush of joy, but Harry misinterprets his reaction and tries to pull his hand free. Eggsy just holds it tighter. "You are neither silly nor old."_

_"Eggsy – " Harry's voice takes on the tone of the stern and caring mentor. "Don't do this to yourself."_

_Eggsy's having none of Harry's ridiculous self-denial and gives him the truth of everything. "Don't do what? I've loved you for a long time, Harry Hart. It might have started out as a juvenile crush when you beat up Dean's muppets in the Black Prince and saved my life. But it hasn't been that for a long time. And don't try to convince me that it's gratitude and not love that I feel. I watched you die and all I could think of was that I wanted to die, too. And I thank god every day that we're both alive. That I have you here, with me, for the rest of my life."_

_"I'm broken, Eggsy. Mind and body. How could you want to tie yourself to someone who sometimes has trouble discerning reality?"_

_Eggsy lets go of Harry's hand and reaches out to cup his face, his thumb brushing over the damage that Valentine's bullet had caused, feeling the slight malformation from the regrown bone, the dark pit where Harry's eye used to be. "How could I not? I loved the man you were then and I love the man you are now. Sometimes I wish I never forced you to remember, that I have could let you remain that sweet, shy man who only wanted to be left alone to study his butterflies. I could have loved him, too."_

_Harry trembling against his hand and Eggsy kisses him, so gently, so tenderly. He's afraid to frighten Harry, to push him away, but Harry opens up and kisses him back, fully participating in the caress. He threads his hands into Eggsy's hair and holds him there, taking over and claiming Eggsy, imprinting himself onto Eggsy soul._

_"I don't think I'll ever be able to let you go, Eggsy. You're going to be stuck with me."_

_Eggsy smiles against Harry's lips. "Which means you're going to be stuck with me, too. You up for that?"_

_Harry pulls him close and Eggsy's half sprawled onto of Harry and it feels like a dream. "I'm going to say this once, and only once. I'm sixty. Even if I was in perfect health, my age is going to always be a factor in this." To make his point clear, Harry takes Eggsy's had and cups it against his flaccid cock._

_Eggsy squeezes it gently; and despite the caress, Harry's cock remains unaroused. "And that's okay. This is not the sum-total of what I want with you or from you, Harry. I want to go to bed with you at night and grumble when you steal the covers. I want to flinch at your morning breath and see you flinch at mine. I want to watch you get dressed in the morning and I want you to teach me how to do a Trinity knot and push my hands away when I keep getting it wrong. I want to argue with you about groceries and the dry cleaning and how you fold your socks."_

_"I roll them, I don't fold them." Harry's interruption is a little faint._

_Eggsy plows on. "You know what I mean, you berk. I want all the intimacies of a life with you. The good and the bad and everything in-between. You think you're the only one in this room who has trouble coping with life? Right now, my coping mechanisms are a lot more violent than yours. It's only since we've been back in London that I haven't needed to spend three hours a day emptying clips into paper targets, even though sometimes it feels like an itch I've got to scratch until it's a bleeding mess. You're keeping me sane, too."_

_"Eggsy…" Harry holds him tight._

_Eggsy's shaking and he has to tell Harry. "There were days when I wanted to kill myself. You were the only thing that kept me from doing that."_

_Harry's arms tighten. "Oh, my dear, dear Eggsy."_

_Eggsy lets out a shuddering sigh. "We're both pretty fucked up individuals, Harry. But maybe together, we can be a whole person who's less fucked up? You think that's possible?"_

_Harry presses a kiss against his temple. "Yes, my darling. I think it's very possible."_

The life they share now is the life that Eggsy had dreamed of; flinching at each other's morning breath and arguing over the grocery list, all the intimacy he's craved and far better sex than Harry had told him to expect. Perhaps that's why Harry's good days far outnumber the bad and Eggsy's developed slightly better coping mechanisms than shooting a hundred rounds a day.

It also helps that there's a familiar and beloved face sitting at the head of the Table, taking charge of rebuilding Kingsman. 

As they turn the corner onto Savile Row, hands still clasped, a pair of Hooray Henrys whistle at them and jeer, "Nice of you to hold your granddad's hand, faggot."

Harry grips his hand tighter, but Eggsy has no intention of doing anything other than ignoring those morons unless they get violent. But they don't and the two of them soon find themselves in front of the shop. It's still too early for client hours, but Andrew is already there and unlocks the front door for them. "Good morning, sirs." 

Andrew's assistant takes their outerwear and Eggsy pulls Harry towards the fireplace, relishing the almost painful burst of heat. 

Harry puts a hand on Eggsy's shoulder and then cups his cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For before, for just ignoring those – " Harry pauses, "shitheads."

Eggsy grins at the rare invective and slips back into his old Cockney accent for equal effect. "Think nothing of it, bruv. They ain't worth my time. Besides, it wouldn't do for former Prince Gary to go about getting his face splashed all over the Internet. Got to keep a low profile. I'm a spy, ya know."

"Of course you are, darling." Harry laughs and kisses him. A kiss worthy of an MGM musical.

From behind them, Andrew clears his throat. "Arthur's been asking for you."

Eggsy checks his watch and despite his planning and good intentions, they are rather late. "Arthur should know better by now."

They head upstairs to the boardroom, where Arthur holds court these days. The door is open and Eggsy follows Harry in.

Roxy's sitting at the head of the Table, right where she's supposed to be. Her ponytail has been replaced with an elegant chignon, and the suit she's wearing isn't mannish Kingsman, but powerfully feminine Chanel; attire far more appropriate for the public face of a very private organization.

Eggsy lets Harry do the greeting while he heads to the sideboard for coffee and pastries. "Good morning Arthur."

"Good morning, Knights. We have a lot of work to do today, so let's get started."

__

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Roxy's alive (but alas, Merlin's dead), and I imagine you're wondering where she was during and after the events of The Golden Circle? Well, her survival and how she became Arthur is a whole other story. Be patient, I plan to tell it

**Author's Note:**

> For Chapter One - In the original ending that George Bernard Shaw wrote for _Pygmalion_ , the basis for _My Fair Lady_ , Henry Higgins is an outright cruel bastard to Eliza. And his behavior is explained as "that's how he treats everyone". Shaw revised the ending several times, but fought hard against giving Henry and Eliza a happy ending.
> 
> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), or on my old school (and much beloved) [Dreamwidth](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) account.


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